๐ผ๐๐ฉ๐๐ง ๐ฝ๐ช๐ง๐ฃ
Hugo Mendes stands over the ball. The keeper bounces on his line. Hugo doesn't look at him. He just steps up, places the shot, and sends the keeper the wrong way.
4-1.
He doesn't celebrate. Just grabs the ball, jogs back to the center circle, and drops it.
The referee whistles. Final.
Robin leaves the pitch, pulling the sweaty jersey over his head.
The locker room smells like sweat and defeat. Martin is pacing, but his anger from the sideline is gone, replaced by that weak, measured tone.
"It's fine," he says. The team is quiet. "They're the defending champions. We knew it would be tough. We showed character in the second half. We got a goal. That's a positive."
Robin's jaw tightens. Excuses. They lost 4-1 at home and the coach is calling it a positive. He keeps his mouth shut. Getting benched for mouthing off won't help.
As Robin is packing his bag, Martin walks over.
"Silver. A word."
Robin stops.
"You've got talent," Martin says, his voice low. "I agree. But you didn't play like I wanted you to."
"You told me to play safe. I did."
"My definition of 'safe' doesn't include a yellow card for assault and ignoring your defensive duties to chase the ball."
"Well, if I played like you wanted, we wouldn't have scored a goal, boss," Robin says, meeting his eyes.
Martin's face hardens. "And you wouldn't have conceded one either, Robin. That free kick was on you."
"No. Stilgar would have scored no matter what."
Robin slings his bag over his shoulder. He doesn't wait to be dismissed. He just leaves.
Martin watches him go, fuming. His assistant coach steps up beside him, watching Robin's number 11 disappear down the tunnel.
"Gotta say, boss," the assistant mutters. "The crowd loved him. We got reactions. Doyle gets reactions, sure, but he does it with skill. This kid... it's different. It's raw."
Martin says nothing, but a small, calculating smile touches his lips.
---
The stadium is dark. The crowds are gone. The floodlights click off one by one, leaving only the dim maintenance lights.
Robin is on the pitch, running sprints.
"You're insane, you know that?"
Doyle is leaning against the tunnel, changed, bag on his shoulder. "I was going to invite you for a drink. The rest of the guys are going."
"Can't," Robin says, not stopping. "Training."
Doyle laughs. "Kid, we just lost 4-1. Training's over. Go home."
"You're the one who told me to be a madman," Robin pants, finally jogging over. "This is it."
Doyle shakes his head, impressed. "You'll make it, Silver. For sure. You're too stubborn not to."
"Join me."
"What? No. I'm going."
"I'll buy you burgers after," Robin says.
Doyle stops. He sighs. "Two burgers."
"Done."
Doyle drops his bag. "What are we doing?"
"1-v-1s," Robin says, grabbing a ball. "I need to work on my defense."
"Defense? You're a winger. Your job is to score, not defend."
"Our team's defense sucks," Robin says bluntly. "Someone has to help. And I'm not getting nutmegged like that again."
Doyle smirks. "Alright. Let's go."
It's a slaughter. Robin lunges. Doyle cuts. Robin slides. Doyle is already gone. Just like on the pitch, Robin is getting destroyed. He's on the grass, panting, furious.
"You're too angry," Doyle says, spinning the ball on his finger. "You're trying to kill me, not tackle me. What's the deal? You this pissed at Stilgar?"
"Yes."
"It's just a game, kid. He's good. You lost."
"It's not a game for me," Robin spits, getting to his feet. "Anyone who beats me? Who embarrasses me? I'll hate them with every nerve in my body."
Doyle just smiles.
Hate.
The word echoes. Robin stops, the ball at his feet. A flash.
The sound of shouting from the kitchen. Plates smashing. His father's voice, raw. His mother's, sharp, cutting. Then the slam of the front door. He remembers standing at the window, watching her get into a car, watching his father stand on the porch, his shoulders slumped. Watching the empty driveway long after the car was gone.
"Robin?"
Robin blinks. He's staring at the empty pitch.
"Again," Robin says, his voice cold.
---
August 13th, 2026
The locker room. A new week. A new squad list is tacked to the noticeboard.
North Wall FC vs. Oakminster Town
Oakminster. Finished 3rd last season. Another monster.
Robin walks up to the list, his bag still on his shoulder. He scans the starters.
His name isn't there.
He finds it on the other side of the page.
Bench.